Nighthawks
by tfm
Summary: As Hotch and Emily grow closer, the lines between personal and professional begin to blur. H/P.
1. I to VI

Nighthawks

I. Hotch

The sun is just setting as you drive up the long, rocky driveway. You think he might have seen you coming, anticipated your presence. You're less than fifty feet from the house when you hear feet striking gravel; the sounds of a man who does not want to be questioned by the FBI.

It's twilight. That beautiful time when the world seems to be unable to decide between light and dark. A gentle hum fills the air. It seems almost wrong to be chasing after an unsub at this time of day, as if there should be a moratorium on the evil. This should be that time when everything is just perfect.

'He ran into the woods,' Emily tells you. She's getting a flashlight out of her bag; it's just dark enough that you'll need one, and in any case, you don't know how long this chase will take. You put out a quick call for back-up, but you're not going to wait. This guy was hard enough to find as it was. You're not holding back now.

It's only seconds between you retrieving your own flashlight, and the two of you starting your chase. You're unsure if he's armed or not, which is unfortunate, because neither of you had brought your vest. You were both expecting this to be a simple interview. You are reminded of Reid and JJ's experience at Tobias Henkel's farm. You hope this doesn't end the same way.

The moment you enter the woods, your footsteps soften. You're hitting dirt and leaves with every quick stride, careful to avoid the buttresses of the trees that surround you. He's not far ahead of you, maybe fifty feet. You can hear his heavy breathing, his slowing pace. He's not a physically imposing unsub; he's cunning, manipulative. He wasn't built to run like this. That said, he's determined. He isn't going to stop until you tackle him into the plant litter.

You can hear her a few steps behind you. She's keeping a steady pace, not wanting to overtake your lead. She knows she'll just get in the way. By staying behind you, she guarantees a more effective takedown.

You slow the moment you can no longer hear his breathing, his feet crushing the ground beneath him. Silently, you direct Emily to your left. The two of you are going to flank him.

He's an intelligent, organized offender. He didn't run into these woods just to escape. He was drawing you in; if you were to have any chance of catching him, you had to walk straight into his ambush.

That's your last thought before you see him arc the knife towards your chest.

II. Emily

You didn't see it coming. Hotch didn't see it coming. You had half expected the unsub to have collapsed, struggling to get just one breath out. The other possibility you had considered was his surrender, that he had weighed up the pros and the cons, and he had decided to turn himself in. You admitted to yourself; that was highly unlikely. But even still, you hadn't expected him to jump Hotch so suddenly.

You don't fire, for fear of hitting your boss. Instead you make a tackle that is worthy of Morgan. There's momentum behind your dive, and the two of you roll for several feet before finally slowing to a stop.

You're cuffing him before he can react. You're aching a bit; you know it wasn't the cleanest of takedowns. There's a sharp pain in your ankle that lets you know walking will be a bitch. That's nothing compared to what the unsub's feeling, though. In the struggle, the knife had lodged itself in his calf, but not before it had injured Hotch.

You pull the knife from his wound, and he lets out a moan. Satisfied that he's not going anywhere right this second, you attend to Hotch. It's a fairly clean cut. Shallow. It runs from the pectoral to the clavicle.

'I'm fine,' he tells you, but you put pressure on the wound anyway. You know you'll never live it down if you let your Unit Chief die out here in these woods.

The woods.

You stop, look around. In every direction, the view is the same. An unending expanse of trees and darkness. You don't know which direction the house is in; the unsub took so many twists and turns that your perception of direction has been skewed.

You have absolutely no idea where you are.

By the light of your torch, you can see the smile on his face.

This was his plan all along.

III. Hotch

It's well and truly dark now. It seems almost fitting. Your chest stings a bit, but it's not agonizing pain. You know you'll live.

Still, she brushes her fingers across your bare chest, and you can feel your body tingling. You know but for the presence of the unsub, you would kiss her right here. You would push her down into the dirt and the leaves, and you would suck every last drop of oxygen from her lungs. She's checking her phone; there's no reception out here. You left the radios in the car.

'Don't you see it?' the unsub says from the ground. By the light of two torches, you can see that he's laughing. 'The two of you would sooner turn on each other than work together. I can see the hatred in your eyes.' He's trying to divide and conquer. To confuse us, to convince one of us to let him go. Desperate times, it seems, calls for desperate measures.

She gives you a tilt of the head, as if to ask "do you want to play along with this?" You know if it were any other member of the team, she already would be. She's comfortable enough with Reid, with Morgan, with Dave even. She'll laugh in their presence, make jokes. You don't know if she's that comfortable with you.

So far tonight, she has maintained a stark professionalism that you know is reserved for foreign dignitaries. You're grateful that she hasn't yet made the resonating, high-pitched laugh that usually accompanies the façade; if the King of Sweden makes a joke, you laugh whether it's funny or not.

You give her a slight nod.

Let the games begin.

IV. Emily

You see him nod, and you know what you have to do. You look at the unsub with fake disbelief. 'He doesn't hate me.' You turn to Hotch. 'You don't hate me, do you?' You want to make it sound as though you're plagued with insecurities, which isn't far from the truth. You've just learned to hide them.

'I…no, Emily, of course I don't hate you. You're a valued member of the team.' He's heard enough lies to know what a liar sounds like, and he has the inflections down perfectly. It's the kind of phrase that would have garnered interest in the casual eavesdropper.

'You do hate me, don't you?' Your voice rises, feigning anger at his words. 'What do I have to do to prove myself to you, Hotch? Do you want me to jump off a bridge for the team? Commit genocide?'

His lips twitch slightly, as if he can think of some perfectly reasonable things for you to be doing. Reasonable things like tearing his shirt off. Well, technically you already did that to get to his wound.

Pants?

'Well maybe if you'd share something of yourself once in a while, we wouldn't have this trust problem.'

'Well isn't that the pot calling the kettle black, Mr. "I haven't smiled in seventeen years"!' He almost does smile at that, but he catches himself in time. 'And for your information, I don't "trust" you with things about my personal life, because my personal life isn't the most socially acceptable thing that's going on. I can't seriously believe you'd be open-minded about the fourteen hour Farscape marathon I had last Saturday night.' The words come easily, but it's not until you've finished talking that you realize it's because you're telling the truth. And he realizes it too. You don't want him to judge you based on your certified nerdiness.

In that moment, there's an understanding between the two of you. One that goes beyond the expressions planted on your collective faces. The unsub doesn't even realize what he's done.

You've given your reasons.

You can't even begin to imagine what his excuse is.

V. Hotch

In the distance, you hear your name being called. You see beams of light jittering in the air.

'Over here!' you yell. You've spent half an hour pretending that you want to throttle Emily like a rag doll. The unsub thought he was fooling you, but while he only now realizes that that is half an hour where he was too distracted to escape.

He lets off a string of swear words at you. Ignoring them, you pull him to his feet.

'Are you alright?' Morgan asks you. At that point, you realize that you're still shirtless. Blood trickles down your chest.

'Fine,' you answer, and attempt to put the shirt back on. Your eyes wander until they land on Emily. She's walking – limping – towards you.

'Your foot…' you start. You didn't realize that she had been injured too. You know that you can't keep that mask in place when she's hurt.

'A small price to pay for saving your life,' she smiles, and grimaces as her foot touches the ground. You put an arm around her, steady her. You feel her tighten beneath your grasp.

'I don't think I'll be sleeping tonight,' she admits.

'Why's that?' you ask. 'Star Trek on?' It takes her a few seconds to realize that you're joking, and when she does, she laughs. It's a real laugh.

'Did you want to grab dinner?' she asks you. 'I'm really hungry all of a sudden.'

_Hungry for what_?

VI. Emily

You're lying beneath him, panting. His left hand lies on your breast, and his right is down near your thigh.

'Oh, Hotch.' You murmur. You can't muster up the energy to say anything else. Your exhausted fingers dance delicately across his chest, lingering on the wound that had been inflicted just hours previously.

He lays pressed against you for what feels like eternity, and you're okay with that; you don't want him to move. Eventually, though, he rolls off you. He puts his arms around you, fingers intertwining just above your navel.

When you've finally recovered the ability to form full sentences, you ask him. 'Would you like to hear about the socially unacceptable activity I did tonight?'

His hands move lower.

'Tell me tomorrow,' he says.


	2. VII to XI

Nighthawks

**A/N: Yes, I'm continuing, because some people seemed really eager to read more.**

VII. Hotch

It's been one week since that night in the woods. One week since you managed to break through those barriers. You're awake, staring at your own ceiling. You can hear her soft breathing beside you, but somehow you know…

'Are you awake?'

'Mmm,' comes the affirmative reply. You knew she wasn't going to be asleep. Neither of you ever are.

It's an affair of sorts; you're both cheating on the FBI. It's not just about the deceit, or the broken rules. It's about the times you normally would have stayed behind to catch up on paperwork because you had nothing to go home to. You both swore that this was a personal thing, that it had nothing to do with work. That it wouldn't interfere. But you both know that that was just rationalization.

The lines have blurred.

VIII. Emily

He lies there, watching you as you dress. He's wearing that Hotch look; you know he's analyzing you, and you can't help feeling self-conscious. You know that getting dressed in the bathroom will send the wrong message. You try to talk, to distract his eyes.

'Did you get my file on the Hayes case?' You know that it's a question that will spark a dispute; not a severe one by any means, but enough that he won't be looking at you like that anymore.

'No discussing work before 8am,' he says sternly. He's looking into your eyes now, rather than at your body, but that's exactly what you wanted.

'It's 7:57,' you protest, smiling.

'Which is still three minutes before 8am.' When he smiles, you realize that you've never seen that look on his face; that fulfillment, that complacency. This is the side of him that you've never had the pleasure of getting to know. You know you're revealing things to Aaron that you rarely would to Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner, Unit Chief. You still find yourself calling him "Hotch" though.

There are just some things you can't change right away.

IX. Hotch

You walk into your office at 9:23am. She enters the bullpen at 9:32. There's just enough difference that no-one would pick up on the fact that you came in together, her car behind yours the entire way.

You stare into the bullpen, almost ignorant of the pile of paperwork on your desk. You see her nod greetings towards Reid, who's dumping his bag on his desk, coffee in hand. They're laughing about something. She isn't quite that comfortable with you yet. The irony of it is almost bitter; you only really know her in the biblical sense.

In the briefing room, she barely gives you a second glance. Her eyes – and yours – are focused on JJ. With her legendary compartmentalization skills, you know she won't slip up. You're not sure if you can guarantee the same. Even the thought of her in danger tears you apart inside.

You had lost your way, and she is helping you find it again.

X. Emily

He catches your eye a few times on the jet. That newly wrought bond between you that cannot always be expressed in words. You admit, the experience does have you feeling better about your life, about the world in general. Before it was doom and gloom, one depressing case after another. Now you know you have something nice to come home to.

You know it can never go further than what it already is; an off hours affair. It isn't about love or even just sex. It's about need.

That's what you're trying to convince yourself, anyway.

The truth is, you know Aaron Hotchner is a man you could find yourself easily falling in love with; intelligent, handsome, and above all, honorable. You vaguely wonder how he copes with the deceit, if it eats away at him.

He pairs you with Morgan, sends the two of you to check out the crime scene. You find yourself staring off into the distance every now and then.

'Everything okay?'

'Yeah. Everything's fine.'

XI. Hotch

'You're smiling,' Rossi observes.

'Am I?' You make a show of sounding ambivalent, as if you hadn't even realized the fact. But it's true – you hadn't realized. Something in your life must be going right if you're smiling without provocation.

'I haven't seen you smile like that in over ten years,' he jokes. You know he's catching on. You don't say anything. He knows that if you want to talk about it, you will. But _you _know that that isn't going to stop him. He'll find out if he really wants to.

When he does – and it's definitely a when – you'll ask him to keep it to himself. To let you keep that quasi-dichotomy.

Because the dichotomy is all you've got left.


	3. XII to XV

Nighthawks

XII. Emily

You holster your weapon. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him standing over the body of a dead woman. You ignore it; first you need to make sure that your unsub is dead.

His eyes stare up at you, soulless. You'd like to think he was soulless long before you put two bullets in his chest. It makes it easier to deal with the fact that you just killed a man. A murderer, for sure; but that murderer had a wife, children, a mother, a father. People who will never see this man again.

Satisfied that he won't be killing any more women, you take the gun from his hand. It's slippery, covered in the sweat of a killer. You wonder how many people's lives have been snuffed out by this weapon. The count is at least seven, as evidenced by the seven grieving mothers you've had to interview over the last week and a half.

He still hasn't moved from his position. You stand next to him, taking note of his expression. You haven't personally seen that fear in his eyes before, but you've heard about it. Morgan described it to you two days after you escaped the cult compound in La Plata County.

Had it really been going on that long?

XIII. Hotch

You can't see her eyes beneath the closed lids, but you imagine they're dark, sultry. Dark hair curls over alabaster skin. You know you're projecting – you know she's standing right beside you – but you still can't help but feel that this latest victim is her.

She puts an arm around you; you're alone, here. It was supposed to be a routine interview. You weren't expecting to find you unsub and his latest victim. There's a lot of that going around lately.

She sees your problem immediately. 'It's okay,' she whispers to you. 'I'm still here.' It doesn't reassure you in the slightest; it doesn't promise that she'll still be here tomorrow, or that she'll still be here in ten years.

At this point, it's all uncertain.

XIV. Emily

He sits next to you on the jet, his leg pressed up against yours. He's trying to remind himself that you're still there. You want to hold his hand, to tell him that it will all be okay. That you aren't going to leave him.

As much as he needs you, you need him; professionally and personally. You need both halves to create the whole. It doesn't matter that one half is substantially larger than the other half. You're both trying to fix that. To fix each other.

If you're going to be successful at that, you can't go on like this forever. Sneaking around like you're both high school sophomores isn't exactly the healthiest way to have a relationship. You haven't really even left the bedroom. You suppose you could consider casework as time spent together, but hunting a serial rapist isn't the most romantic of evenings.

'Are you busy tonight?' he whispers to you. You aren't sure why he's whispering; the cacophony of snores and heavy breathing tell you that everyone else is asleep.

'No.'

'Did you want to get dinner?' You almost smirk at the notion; it's already well after midnight. Such is the nature of the job. You're up at all hours. Sometimes you can manage to get dinner within the traditional hours, but most of the time you're relegated to frequenting all night diners. You can't remember the last time you had a proper meal at the proper time, with the proper implements. It was probably months ago.

To him, you raise an eyebrow. 'Dinner?'

He nods. 'I'll cook.' And then you know; he doesn't want it to leave the house. Doesn't want it to get out of control, because then, it will interfere. You know why. It's the same reason you treat him with professionalism during the working hours. If the two facets of your life were to overlap, there would be chaos. You're both trying to keep it in order, though.

Trying to make it work without letting it get in the way.

XV. Hotch

You're chopping up onions while she's putting the saucepan on the stove. She isn't the most proficient of cooks, but she can put the saucepan on the stove without burning the house down. That in itself is a skill many people are yet to acquire.

She's telling a story – something about a case she worked before joining the BAU. You aren't listening to the words as such. You're listening to the sound of her voice, the way she can make you smile just by talking.

'I love you.' She stops talking, at which point you realize that you said the words out loud. The words that have never been spoken between the two of you. The concept that has never been discussed. She's in shock, you think; she has that look you've seen so many times before, eyes wide, mouth slightly open.

'I'm sorry,' you say. 'I didn't mean to…' she puts a finger on your lips, silencing you immediately.

What happens next surprises both of you.

'I love you too.'

**a/n: It's 7.56pm on Valentine's Day, and I'm sitting here writing Criminal Minds Fanfiction. I feel so lame. Consider this your bunch of roses, folks.**


	4. XVI to XX

Nighthawks

**a/n: Edited for the inexplicable disappearance of a few words in the middle of a sentence.**

XVI. Emily

The rough rope rubs against your wrist. He's yelling at you, screaming abuse. He wants to know if you really thought you could fool him. You almost roll your eyes. For a rampant serial killer, this guy is a real cliché. That's not to say you're not apprehensive; you know this guy could snap at any moment. You don't want your life to flash before your eyes. Untaken chances mocking you in the moments before death.

You want to look Death in the eye, and tell him to fuck off.

You miss Hotch's warm embrace. The way he can hold you, and let you know that everything is going to be okay. He doesn't even have to say anything. It's just the way his hands touch your skin, the way his lips brush against yours. You get the feeling that when you're with him, everything is going to be alright. You know you have the same effect on him, the way he almost melts in your grasp when he's feeling upset. You know that he's probably panicking now. He won't let anyone see it. Doesn't want to let anyone know exactly what is going on between the two of you.

But you know he'll be worried.

And somehow, that's enough.

XVII. Hotch

You almost break down in tears of joy when you see her sitting at the back of the ambulance, getting checked out by a paramedic. You hadn't wanted to leave. You would have much preferred staying here, and watching events unfold rather than talking to the unsub's ex-wife. But you were the only one available. The rest of the team had been half a continent away, focusing on the other victims. You had not expected him to strike here again.

The team is here now; they arrived on scene about half an hour before you. Morgan is standing next to her; Dave and JJ are talking to the leader of the SWAT team. Reid is fluttering about, trying not to look superfluous. They all watch as you walk purposefully towards the ambulance. You look into her eyes. She tries to convey a silent message to you; it might be "sorry," but you're pretty sure it's something deeper.

And suddenly, you can't hold yourself back. You've pulled her into your arms, conscious of any injuries she might have sustained. You're holding her so tightly; you don't even want to think about losing her.

The moment you realize that there are tears staining your eyes, you think that this is probably as good a time as any to kiss her.

XVIII. Emily

He had kissed you, right then and there. In front of Morgan and Reid, Dave and JJ. In front of SWAT and the local PD. In front of the goddamn press. The only thing you could do – the only thing you wanted to do – was kiss him right back.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the shock on Morgan's face. The amusement on Rossi's. And the two of you just don't let go.

He's with you now, arms wrapped around your stomach. Your body had ached, but it seems to have stopped now. You're both fully clothed – this isn't about sex. This is about making each other feel safe, feel loved. And it's working. In his tight embrace, you drift off into a peaceful sleep.

XIX. Hotch

You're angry. Of all the pictures from the scene the newspaper had to print, they printed the one of you and Emily sharing a "moment." It's not even a significant paper; some local tabloid rag that printed the murder stories alongside such gems as "President Abducted by Aliens Once More." But somehow, it ended up on Erin Strauss' desk.

You're sitting opposite her, resisting the urge to tap your foot against the polished wood. You know that, officially speaking, she is in the right. Intimate relationships with colleagues is not just frowned upon, it's blatantly prohibited. And if a relationship with a colleague has punitive ramifications, then having a relationship with a subordinate will give you the death sentence.

You don't say anything; you're waiting for her to initiate the conversation. Conversation is probably an inappropriate term. You think "rant" is better. When she speaks, she speaks the last words you are expecting.

'Agent Prentiss handed in her resignation this morning.'

And before she can say anything else, you're on your feet.

You already know; she did this for you.

XX. Emily

'You quit your job.' He says it bluntly, and even though he isn't using his "angry Hotch" voice, you know that it's breaking him apart inside.

'I know,' you say. 'Strauss would have reamed us both if I didn't. This way, you won't get busted down to the coffee guy, at least.'

'This job is your life.' He's still speaking in present tense, as if he might be able to convince you to withdraw the resignation.

'Not as much as you are.' The moment you say it, you immediately regret it. It sounds as though you're accusing him of loving the job more than he loves you. You put your arms around him, a silent apology.

'The BAU needs you, Aaron,' you say.

'They need you too. I need you.'

'I know.'

Need is more important than love, you think. It's love in a stronger form, when it's that sincere kind of need – not just a want. He's telling you that you're the reason he wakes up in the morning, that he would have simply broken a long time ago if it weren't for you.

You didn't want to leave, but you had to.

You need him as much as he needs you.


	5. XXI to XXIV

Nighthawks

XXI. Hotch

When you wake up, it's dark. You reach your hand across the bed, expecting to feel a warm body, or at the very least, a lump underneath the sheets. The soft, silken material brushes against your fingertips. You sit up, realizing that she isn't there.

You look briefly at the clock – it's almost three in the morning. Your eyes take a moment to adjust in the darkness, but when you finally do see her, you wonder why it took you so long.

She's sitting by the window, silhouetted against the city lights. Her legs are drawn up to her chest, and she is holding her knees.

'_She's beautiful_,' is your first thought. _'She's crying_,' is your second. It's almost imperceptible; the only thing that made you notice was the soft sobbing sound she made as she tried to sniff back the tears.

You know this is your fault. She will never willingly admit it to you, but you know that it is true. By exposing your relationship, you had forced her hand. You think that even if you hadn't kissed her, she still would have quit, but that still doesn't stop you from blaming yourself.

Somehow, saying "sorry" doesn't seem good enough. What would it mean to her: "sorry I ruined your career"? "Sorry I made you choose between me and your job"?

You don't know.

You walk over there, put a hand on her shoulder. You don't say anything; you don't want to pressure her right now.

She reaches over her shoulder, grasps at the hand that you've put there.

Now it's the two of you, still and silent in the darkness.

XXII. Emily

His fingers rub against yours. You feel almost content for a second, but it doesn't last long.

What are you going to do now?

You're out of work, and sleeping with your ex-boss; it isn't the most stress-free position to be in. You can't do unemployed – you tried it for two days between high school and college, and you went stir crazy. You need to keep yourself occupied, to give yourself the impression that you're actually doing something that matters.

You've been in this position before, you remember. The last time you quit your job for him. You consider what you told him then; you know that you would be accepted into the State Department in a heartbeat. You also know the State Department isn't your style – it's eighty percent politics, and you hate politics. The only reason you told him you were joining was because you knew it would set alarm bells off in his mind.

CIA, maybe? God no. You refuse to be a spy.

There's a whole list of places you think you should consider; you find it interesting that they all seem to be government agencies, and the majority of them law enforcement ones at that. You don't think you could do anything else.

You'll think about it later – when the sun is high in the sky.

It's not as if you've got anything better to do.

XXIII. Hotch

Telling the team is difficult; you had rushed out of the office yesterday, without so much as telling them what was going on. You try to retain a calm demeanour as you gather them in the briefing room. Garcia's there too, having been attempting to convince Reid of the merits of wearing bright pink heels to work. Her presence will make this even harder.

'Where's Prentiss?' Rossi asks. His tone of voice suggests that he already knows why you've brought them all here.

'She resigned yesterday.'

As you predicted, there is something of an outrage. Morgan and Garcia seem to be the most vocal about the issue; Morgan's almost in your face before Rossi pulls him back.

'You think I don't know this is my fault?' you ask them. They look surprised at your admission. You normally don't reveal so much at work, and you think that this might be partially Emily's influence. Since you realized you were in love, you've been having trouble with the distinction. You've been doing things at work that you normally wouldn't. You've been doing things at home that you normally wouldn't.

This, you know, is the reason why you're in this mess.

XXIV. Emily

You're lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling, when the phone rings. You don't think you would have called it a depression. It was a major upheaval, though, for sure. You had been in the Bureau for almost fifteen years; leaving almost feels like chopping off a limb.

The first call is Garcia, pleading you to withdraw the resignation. She knows as well as you do that it has already been processed, that you are officially no longer a federal agent. Right now, you're just Emily.

The second call is Morgan. He is not hiding his eagerness for you to return, but he also asks if you are okay. You're not sure of the answer. You're not sure of anything right now.

The third call is JJ. She asks the same questions; by now you're just starting to get sick of them, but you appease her anyway. You know she's trying to help.

The fourth call is Reid. He stutters a bit, unsure of what to say. It surprised him more than anyone to see you and Hotch kissing like that. You're something of a sister to him, and Hotch a father, so you can imagine why he's feeling uncomfortable.

The last call is Rossi. He's known for a while, you realize. He doesn't offer pleas or condolences. He gives advice. You think he's probably given Hotch advice too, because that's just the way he is. You think that maybe he should start a column in the FBI newsletter.

When he finally hangs up, you're tired, frustrated, despite having done very little all day. You feel slightly nauseous, but you think that is probably from being in that state of limbo between jobs.

The door swings open; it's him. You smile, in spite of yourself.

Despite all the crap that's going on, you find yourself genuinely pleased to see him.

And that's love.


	6. XXV to XXIX

Nighthawks

XXV. Hotch

It's not particularly late when you open her front door. When you were with Haley, you were sometimes home past one in the morning. It's barely eight now, and yet the lights are all off. You come in as quietly as possible, thinking that perhaps she is already asleep. It's uncharacteristic, but you think it's far more likely than thinking that she has perhaps gone out.

She hasn't; you can hear her soft breathing when you walk into the bedroom. At first you think she's asleep, but then you see her open eyes in the little light that you have. You sit at the edge of the bed, brush her cheek with your hand. She does not respond, save to shift slightly under your touch. You know this has been incredibly difficult for her; the bureau was her life more than anything else. To lose that is catastrophic. And it's all your fault. You can't blame her for not wanting to talk to you. You can't blame her for being moody. You can't blame her for any of this.

It's all on you.

XXVI. Emily

You had thrown up again this afternoon, and for you, that cemented the diagnosis. You had put down the symptoms to stress, but now you realize that it's something far direr. Panic is your first reaction. What are you going to do, about work, about Hotch? Then you remember – there is no work. Is no Hotch. There's an Aaron, but there isn't a Hotch. Not really.

You wonder what has become of your life. You were never the type that would give up your career to have a family – that idea feels so unbelievably 1950s to you. You quit to protect him. Now it's turning into something else. There is no dichotomy between personal and professional anymore. It's all turned into one giant, chaotic mess.

And you have no idea what to do.

XXVII. Hotch

You're washing your face when you see it. Washing away the metaphorical dirt that the job has covered you with. You don't know if you can keep the personal and professional separate, and that was – that _is_ – the problem. It had been fine when it was a between working hours thing; something that gave both of you that little bit of happiness. But now it's serious, and on some level that terrifies you. Work had torn apart your marriage with Haley, and now, looking at that tiny little stick that tells you she's pregnant, you can't help but feel that it's happening all over again.

It will start off all happy families, and then you'll stay late working a case. Then, you'll leave for Texas, or California, or Florida at three o'clock in the morning, kissing her goodbye. Then you'll miss your son's – your daughter's? – birthday because there's a serial rapist who you need to catch.

It's slightly different this time. She knows the demands of the job – she understands why you have to put it above everything else. But that doesn't make it okay.

XXVIII. Emily

He gets into bed beside you, puts his arms around you. His palm lies flat against your stomach.

'Have you made an appointment yet?' he murmurs. You almost laugh. Aaron Hotchner, legendary profiler. _That used to be you, _you think, but you're not bitter at him. You're bitter at a system that won't let two people fall in love. You're bitter at a system that expects you to give everything of yourself and receive nothing in return. You're only really aware of that now you're gone. It didn't bother you when you had an unrequited crush on your supervisor, or when you went nearly twelve months without a date.

'I'll make it tomorrow,' you reply. To be honest, you're still getting over the shock. You vaguely wonder what you'll do about all those job applications you sent in, offers you haven't replied to yet. Never in your life did you want to be a stay-at-home mother. You can't help but feel that fate almost forced you into the role.

'Everything will be okay.' You feel as though you've heard those words a hundred times before, from different lips, in different circumstances, but you know. It's never okay. You trust him with your life, with your heart, but deep down you know.

It will never be okay.

XXIX. Hotch

You're holding her hand when the two of you first look up at that grainy black-and-white image that is your child. You had forced yourself to put everything aside today, knowing that if you missed this, then it would be a downward spiral towards another failed relationship, another child you barely get to see. You don't want to do that – to the child, or to her.

She's looking at the image, at the real-time footage of her kin, as if she can't actually believe that something so beautiful, so wonderful, came from her. You remember first time parenthood; the fear, the excitement, the nervousness.

In spite of your experience, you're still feeling it. It's not just about your unborn child, it's about the mistakes you've made, the mistakes you don't want to make again.

You know right then in that moment; you're going to do whatever you can to make this work.


	7. XXX to XXXIV

Nighthawks

XXX. Emily

You tap your pen against the desk. You hadn't sat at this desk in so long and now it feels like you're sitting at it every day. Your breakfast sits beside you untouched; he's made you breakfast every day for the past week, before he even knew about the pregnancy. You're grateful, but right now, the thought of food makes you nauseous. Everything makes you nauseous – you've rushed to the toilet twice already today, surprising yourself with the contents of your stomach.

Your attention is divided. Part of you is focused on job listings, while the other half feels content look at lists of baby names. You put that down to compartmentalization. You shudder at some of the names on the list.

Even less appealing is the variety of job listings. You're qualified for all of them – over-qualified for some – and yet you don't see yourself moving to Texas or Alaska right about now.

Both subjects are something that you need to discuss with Hotch – with _Aaron_, you mentally correct yourself. You still aren't used to calling him that. Hotch seems so much more natural, so much more like the man you fell in love with. You suppose it doesn't really matter what you call him.

It doesn't change anything.

XXXI. Hotch

'Thanks for covering for me yesterday,' you tell Rossi as you stand at the door of his office. He's got that knowing look on his face that still irks you sometimes, even after having known him for so long. It's the look that makes you want to sit down and tell him everything, and you know that you're not the only one who's ever fallen for that. He doesn't judge – not out loud, at least.

'Emily's pregnant,' you tell him. He nods. This morning she had told you that you should tell the team. She didn't want to deal with the bittersweet emotions that accompanied such a revelation. You know the reactions will be mixed. None of them will be entirely negative, you're sure, but you know that they'll get the same feeling you do, the same feeling she has. It almost solidifies the fact that she won't be returning to the BAU.

You've always taken the loss of a team member hard. There's the emotional impact for one thing, but then there's adjustments made to accommodate the "new team," as you like to call it. Because it's never the same. There will be different skill sets, different dynamics. You'll all be shifting to cover the gaps. And if it's this bad for you, then you know it's even worse for her.

XXXII. Emily

You stopped your pursuits around lunchtime, overcome by a sudden wave of nausea. It's not just about the morning sickness, you know. It's about the stress, the upheaval, the sudden changes. You wonder what kind of world this child will be born into. Your thought process is interrupted as you vomit into the toilet, coughing afterwards.

You wonder if this is a symbolic process as well. Every time you rush to the toilet, lay your head against the seat, you're purging yourself of your old life.

Who are you now? Are you a new person now that you're living this new life? Will it change you? Obviously in some ways it will, you know. You gargle endlessly, trying to get rid of the permeating taste of vomit.

But you can't get rid of it.

You can never get rid of it.

XXXIII. Hotch

Their reactions are as you had expected. You had wanted to wait until the end of the day, specifically so you wouldn't have to deal with death glares from Morgan, but then your excitement got the better of you. He still blames you, you know, and you also know that he is completely correct. Still, you're glad when he makes it clear that his concern for Emily's wellbeing outweighs his anger towards you. You don't think there would be a particularly favourable reaction if he beat you senseless.

He cares about her.

You all care about each other.

You're a family, broken apart by, of all things, politics. You understand fully now why she hates it so much, though it had never been a complete mystery to you. You've spent enough time with the Prentiss family to know just how close they aren't.

She's different. She professional, yes, but when she wants to be, she can be so warm, so passionate. It's one of the reasons you became so smitten with her in the first place.

You don't want to lose that.

But then, you fear it may already be too late.

XXXIV. Emily

You scrunch the newspaper into a ball, and arc the ball into the bin. You don't want to think about jobs right now. Already, you're ignoring the pile of letters that might contain job offers. You know you were only looking because you can't imagine a world where you're staying at home, breast-feeding, or maybe vacuuming the floors. To even think that it might end some other way is cathartic to you.

He calls you. Asks you how you're feeling. Then he drops the bombshell. The team want to come around for dinner. "To show support" are the words he doesn't add. This week so far, it's been mostly consults for the mighty Behavioral Analysis Unit. He has been able to call, to return to your place relatively early in the evening. You wonder if he even remembers where his own apartment is.

You suggest Saturday – at least then you'll have a chance at being able to find emotional support from him in the lead-up to the event. You're anxious about the whole thing. What do you say to these people? "Yeah, I've been fucking the boss for a few months now, and our love child is on the way." In a team that's so much a family, it almost feels as though you're betraying them.

But then, it's something you'll have to deal with eventually.


	8. XXXV to XXXVII

Nighthawks

**a/n: Hey, tfm. Are you studying for that exam you've got tomorrow? No? How about doing that essay you've got due Tuesday? No? Then what are you-oh…oh my, this **_**is **_**serious. **

**Also, check out the poll on my profile page.**

XXXV. Hotch

You're standing in the office of Erin Strauss, almost feeling as though you're back in school, and about to be given detention. It has been one month since Emily left the BAU; one month since you found out she was pregnant. You know that things are strained on the team right now, that there is some tension, and that the tension is adversely affecting your work.

Apparently Erin Strauss has noticed it too. This is a warning: "pick up your act, or else."

'With all due respect, ma'am,' you counter, 'We _are_ down an agent.'

She just gives you a look, as if she's trying to say: "well whose fault is that?"

'Then perhaps you should consider looking through the applications that are sitting on your desk, Agent Hotchner.'

That isn't what you meant – not really. What you had really meant, was "_she's_ not here." Strauss, though, seems to be thinking along the same lines.

'Could you please inform former Agent Prentiss that I would like to see her?'

Your heart skips a beat. 'You have no authority over her anymore.' It's the same argument Emily had spun the first time she had resigned; you're hoping the Section Chief will see the parallels.

'It is simply a request, Agent Hotchner. Ms. Prentiss is free to turn me down, should she choose.'

You're curious in spite of yourself. You wonder what Strauss could possibly want with Emily – is it too much to hope that she'll ask Emily to return to the BAU? Yes, probably. Protocol is protocol.

But you can't help but hope.

XXXVI. Emily

'Strauss wants to see you.' The words make you stop in your tracks. It's the first thing he says as he enters, slipping his shoes off. He has practically moved in by now; his toothbrush sits next to yours on the bathroom counter, his socks fill the laundry hamper.

'What about?' you ask casually.

'I'm not sure. She wouldn't say.' He's trying to keep that nonchalant, "Hotch" expression, but you can see the hope in his eyes. Hope that maybe this can work out.

You already know that it won't work out the way he wants it to. You can't simply return to the BAU, and play happy families. It's too far gone. He would not be able to treat you with unbiased professionalism if you were to return. The kiss had been the cinching moment for you. He would never kiss Morgan or Reid in front of everyone after a bad case.

'Maybe…' he starts, and you find yourself interrupting him harshly.

It's the hormones, you think, that are making you snap at him like this. 'I can't come back to the team, Aaron. It doesn't work like that.'

It's time to tell him. Tell him that you would have quit even if the newspaper hadn't ended up on Erin Strauss's desk. That you quit because you weren't sure how to separate the personal and the professional anymore, and quite frankly, it scared you.

He falters when you tell him. He's not quite sure what to say. Neither are you. How do you explain that it's not that you don't want to work with him, it's that you can't. Because if you do, you're letting go of everything that made you the agent you were.

A minute later, he still hasn't said anything, so you take the initiative.

'I'm going for a walk,' you say firmly. You both need the time to think through some things.

Though you close it with no more force than you normally would, it still feels as though you're slamming the door in his face, as you leave the apartment.

XXXVII. Hotch

Two hours later, she still hasn't returned. You call her cell, and then, when she doesn't answer, you call Garcia. Emily, apparently, has pre-empted you.

'_She's thinking through some things_,' Garcia tells you. '_She also said to stress the fact that she's not mad at you. If I might be a busybody, here, Hotch?_'

You give a half-smile, thinking that Garcia hardly needs your permission.

'_She just needs some time. A lot of changes are happening at once, and she's tired, and confused, and hormonal, and you being all Hotchy isn't going to help matters._'

You nod. You're a profiler, but you can't even seem to pick up the fundamentals of making a long-term relationship work.

'_Stay strong, Hotch. We're all here for you.'_

But you already know – nothing will ever be the same.


	9. XXXVIII to XL

Nighthawks

XXXVIII. Emily

You're standing in the office of Erin Strauss, trying to hide your surprise. She pads her words with justification, and a scathing tone, but you know what the core of her message is:

We want you back.

She goes on to explain that her superiors feel that your expertise is, quite frankly, wasted outside the Bureau. You raise an eyebrow at that.

'But not in the BAU,' you conclude.

'No,' she shakes her head. 'Not in the BAU.'

'Did you have a position in mind?' You broach the subject cautiously. For all you know, Erin Strauss is about to sign you on as her secretary, or as the coffee bitch for the fifth floor.

'Agent Myers is retiring in six months,' she begins, and you trawl your memory for the name. Myers. Right. 2IC of CTD. Wait, what is she saying? 'My superiors believe that you would be an ideal candidate to replace him.' The way she says it, you know that she doesn't agree. And with good reason – you're effectively getting a promotion for sleeping with your boss. In some, twisted, roundabout way. Strauss is still talking, you realize then. 'With your language skills and your experience with foreign relations…' and then you lose focus again.

'_Is this what you really want?' _you ask yourself. _'To return to the Bureau?_'

Already you know the answer.

Absolutely.

XXXIX. Hotch

You're not surprised to see her knocking on your office door. She's just been to see Strauss, and instead of the frustration that usually accompanies the aftermath of a visit to the Section Chief, she's looking elated, almost. You get the feeling it went well.

You greet her with a warm kiss as she enters. Out of the corner of your eye, you're sure you can see the rest of the team standing in the bullpen, watching. It feels strange. Your planned "family" dinner had been rescheduled due to an urgent case; the seven of you haven't been in the same room since before she left the unit. There's another one planned for next week, and you're hoping that it doesn't get postponed yet again.

'Well?' you ask her.

She seems surprised herself as she tells you. 'Strauss – or rather, Strauss' superiors – wants me to return to the Bureau.' She puts some emphasis on the word Bureau, as if she doesn't want you to get your hopes up. She won't be coming back to the BAU. 'Agent Myers is retiring. They wanted me to replace him.'

Your heart skips a beat, and you know your expression changes as well. Counterterrorism. This relationship really has changed the dynamic between you, you realize, because suddenly, you can't stand even the possibility that she might get hurt.

But this isn't your decision.

'What did you tell her?'

She takes a deep breath. 'I turned down the supervisory position. With a child on the way…' she trails off, knowing that topic of balancing both work and a family is somewhat sensitive to you. 'But I did accept a regular position in the division, making it abundantly clear that I will have to go on maternity leave sometime in the near future.'

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you think that maybe – just maybe – things might work out okay.

XL. Emily

You kiss Hotch goodbye, and make your way towards the bullpen. You want to talk to the others before leaving; the paperwork for the CTD position won't go through for a few days at least, and you fill out a few more forms just to get your gun and badge back.

Morgan and Reid are sitting at their desks, JJ and Garcia standing nearby. Rossi is just returning with coffee. You get the feeling that they've been waiting for you.

'Hey,' is your awkward greeting, before you're almost smothered by Garcia. It's not as though you haven't seen her, but lately she's of the opinion that every moment spent _not_ hugging you is time wasted.

'So how did it go?' asks Morgan, with an attempt at sounding nonchalant, as if this wasn't your entire future on the line.

'Counterterrorism,' is your reply, and he cracks a grin, though you think he'd be grinning much harder if you'd said "BAU."

'So how's junior doing?' JJ asks, an eye on your expanding waistline. You give a slightly derisive sound.

'"Junior" is intent on making Mommy's life _very_ difficult. With the vomiting, and the having to pee all the time…' You trail off, laughing at the look on Reid's face.

'I'm pretty sure that difficulty persists _after_ the child leaves the womb,' Rossi comments. 'Though I have no experience myself.' There's a slight twinkle in his eye.

You get that warm feeling inside, the feeling that you've missed over the last month. The feeling that you get just from spending time with these people

You wonder if you'll ever get it back.


	10. XLI to XLIV

Nighthawks

**A/N: Short, yes, but no less emotionally draining. Now I have to go finish (start) the essay that's due Monday.**

XLI. Hotch

You're doing paperwork when you get the call. You're almost grateful that you weren't away on a case, but grateful isn't a word you want to use when talking about this.

You had left the office without saying a word, your heart racing.

You're afraid.

Fear is an emotion you've felt before. You feel it every time a member of the team is in danger. You don't think you've ever felt it in this much volume.

Jordan had barely said anything; it was just "Emily's in hospital." Before she'd had a chance to explain, you were already moving.

You're there now, having broken several dozen road rules to make it there.

You see her doctor. See the look on his face.

And your heart breaks.

XLII. Emily

It had been just your second day in Counter Terrorism. It's a new experience, definitely, but you're used to new experiences by now. Used to having your life shaken up at every corner.

You were talking to Jordan, as she explained some of the team dynamics. It seems almost easier when you know someone on the inside.

You'd tried to ignore the agonizing pain in your abdomen. You'd pegged it as just another one of those pregnancy symptoms. Then, you felt the wetness.

You didn't need Jordan to tell you that you were bleeding, but she did anyway. Your fingers came away soaked in red.

That was an hour ago.

Hotch comes in, and looking at his face, you know he's trying so damn hard not to break down. You stopped trying a while ago.

'I'm sorry,' you whisper. Maybe, if you hadn't stressed yourself out so much, if you hadn't waited this long, maybe it wouldn't have happened this way.

Tears shining in his eyes, he takes your hand. 'It's not your fault, Emily.'

You want to tell him that it is. That this is your penance for fucking your life up so badly. All that comes out is a short sob.

'We can keep trying,' he tells you. His still holding your hand tightly. And in that moment you know.

He's never letting go.

XLIII. Hotch

Ten minutes later, she's asleep.

You still haven't let go of her hand. Awkwardly, you use the hospital phone to call Rossi.

'_How is she_?' is the first thing he asks.

'She miscarried,' you reply softly, not wanting to wake her.

You can almost see him nodding in understanding. '_Take the rest of the day. I've got things here._'

You bite your lip, afraid that it's all going to come bursting out.

'Thanks, Dave,' is all you can say.

You hang up quickly, squeezing her hand.

'_I'm _sorry,' you say. You're fairly sure she's still asleep, but that doesn't change the fact that you need to get this out. 'I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when I needed to be. I'm sorry that you had to give up everything you ever wanted. I'm sorry that this happened, and I hope like hell you can forgive me, because I…I don't know what I'd do without you. I love you,' you add softly.

She squeezes back, and when she speaks, her voice is still warbly. 'I love you too.'

XLIV. Emily

They keep you overnight for observation. When you leave the next morning, Hotch is by your side. He hasn't left it once since yesterday.

You had only been twelve weeks along, but it still hurt more than anything you've ever experienced – physically and emotionally. As though a part of you had been ripped away. As though you didn't deserve it in the first place.

There's silence between you for a long while, but it isn't an awkward silence. It's the silence that's telling you that you're both still grieving, that while healing physically might not take long, healing emotionally might take a great deal longer.

But you've got each other.


	11. XLV to XLVIII

Nighthawks

XLV. Hotch

It's been almost a week since she miscarried, and she still seems rather down. You're not surprised. You know how long she's wanted this. You know the trials and tribulations she's been through to make it to this point. And now, it's back to square one.

The team is coming around for dinner tonight. It's an event that's been postponed so many times, that you were afraid that it was never going to happen. That the familial relationship would be destroyed by your stupid mistake. You almost postponed it again, for a time when she is in a better mood. For a time when she is more receptive to company.

She vetoes you, without explanation. You get the feeling that she needs cheering up, even if she doesn't want to admit it.

So now you're both in the kitchen, cooking for seven. There's a smile on her face, but you know it's mostly to appease you.

You know that recovery will take time. You're in the best of moods yourself, but that's nowhere near comparable to her depression.

You're going to do whatever it takes to help her through this.

XLVI. Emily

Morgan's the first to ring the doorbell. A case called the rest of the team away the day you went into hospital, so you haven't seen any of them since before the miscarriage. You suppress a tear, simply thinking about it. Hormones, it seems, trump compartmentalization.

He hugs you silently, a greeting as much as it is an expression of his sympathies. He brought flowers and wine, a theme that you're certain will be replicated by others. They're sympathising.

Part of you is grateful that they care, and part of you is irritated that you're getting all this attention. You'd much prefer that they accept your circumstances, and move on. You've always loathed being the center of attention. That stems back to your days at Ambassadorial functions when you really, _really_had to restrain yourself from punching a drunken Senator when he grabbed your ass.

Sometimes you'd just prefer to sit in the corner and watch the world go by.

But that's not happening now. Things are moving forward whether you like it or not.

And, you're finding that, in spite of yourself, you do like it. You like it a lot.

XLVII. Hotch

The rest of the team are noticeably surprised at the fact that you can cook. They rarely see this side of you, and you wonder if this is a sign of personal growth – that you're actually merging your work life and your home life beyond your relationship with Emily.

It's the kind of thing you need to be careful about. You need to find the right balance; too much work, and you'll be the sullen workaholic that you were before you took a positive step forward in your life. Too much home, and you'll be an ineffective profiler.

The time for turning back has long since past; you stopped being all work and no play that night in the woods. The night she opened up to you. You stopped being the closed off Unit Chief. You're still dedicated to your work, you can't deny that. But now, it feels as though there's something to come home to beyond the barely hidden scowl you'd always get from Haley.

You don't think Haley was entirely wrong though; reconnecting with your son is another thing to do on that unwritten list.

You think about all the things that have happened over the past few months. Some have been undesirable at first, but looking back, they were necessary to define what you are now.

And what are you now?

You're in love.

XLVIII. Emily

He's got a smile on his face, and that, more than anything, is instrumental in cheering you up. You'll still be a little upset for a while, you know, but that's understandable. What makes you smile on the inside is knowing that without obligation, he's still willing to stay with you. To make it work.

He could have broken it off with you any time since then, citing the complications of juggling work and a relationship, but he hasn't. He's not that guy. He had tried to make it work with Haley – you know that – but ultimately, Haley had wanted what Aaron couldn't give her. She had wanted a dedicated family man. Hotch loves Jack, but he also loves his job; he's fooling himself if he thinks that he can survive without either half of the self. It's why he almost burnt out. Why that only now, you're starting to see the smile on his face as he regains that balance.

His hand grasps yours under the table.

He's laughing at something Garcia said. You look sideways, and see the twinkle in his eye, and then you know.

This is what having a family is.

THE END.


End file.
